


La Città Eterna

by lykxxn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassin's Creed inspired, Death, F/M, Fighting, Italy, Thieves Guild, Violence, War, Weapons, Xenophobia, historical setting, if you can handle assassin's creed or any historical novels you can probably handle this, if you've read les misérables you're more than prepared, it isnt even based on a historical event, this is totally fictional
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/lykxxn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Italy, but not as you know it. The year is 1639, and France and its allies Spain and Belgium have invaded. People are starving, homeless, and helpless. Thrust in the middle of it all is a thief who is trying to live life as normal, but it is difficult when the threat of a revolution lead by the people looms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Città Eterna

**Venice, Italy**

_March 1638_

* * *

Vittore, stood high on the Venetian rooftops, stared down at the guards patrolling at the canal-side. His hands tightened around his crossbow, surveying the three. One was poorly armed with nothing but a dagger, and the other two had spears, but were clearly inexperienced. He could easily take them out. They were Italian; there was a large wolf on their uniforms.

Slowly, Vittore adjusted his crossbow; the bolt flew through the air and lodged into the first guard’s neck. He let out a screech of pain, dropping his dagger as he sunk to the floor. The other two, panicked, ran over to their dying comrade. Perfect. Vittore smiled grimly, and released another bolt. This one lodged into the guard’s chest and he seemed to die almost instantly, blood pooling on the cobbled path. The final guard stood up in alarm. He was frightened, and he looked around him in panic. Vittore loved it when they were frightened. It made things at least a little amusing. He loaded his crossbow and released a final bolt. It hit the guard’s back, and he fell forward onto the ground.

Satisfied, Vittore stored his crossbow in a sheath over his back, and climbed carefully down to the ground. He approached the dead guards and, with a skill only a master thief could achieve, pickpocketed each in turn. He retrieved a hundred ducats, as well as a dagger, two throwing knives, and a bullet. Soundlessly, he walked away from the scene, slipping the stolen goods into his pockets as he did so. He passed many other guards on his walk, but he kept his hands to himself and did not steal nor attack them.

He stopped outside a large building, looked twice, and opened the door. The building was dark and, with the exception of a lone candle in the corner of the room, there were no lights. ‘I have brought money and weapons,’ he said, seemingly to nobody, until a middle-aged man came into view. Vittore took the dagger, knives and the bullet from his pockets and handed them to the man.

‘That is not much,’ he commented. ‘How much money?’

‘One hundred ducats,’ replied Vittore. ‘The guards are poor, sir. Our country is poor.’

‘I am aware of that,’ snapped the man, ‘just give me the money.’

Vittore handed over the golden ducats, and the man snatched them from him. He moved towards the candle, and put the goods on a desk. He lit another candle. ‘Come, Vittore. Sit.’

Vittore did wordlessly as he was asked. ‘Floriano, sir …’

‘I know what you are going to ask,’ said Floriano. He sat on the opposite side of the desk, and the candlelight made him look older and wearier than usual. ‘I have received word from Franco in Valpelline that the French are advancing. Our army is growing tired.’

‘We are defeated,’ said Vittore finally. ‘Franco is in Valpelline? He should come back. The army is no place for a man such as he.’

Floriano shook his head. ‘You don’t think I haven’t told him that? You don’t think I haven’t tried to convince him he is safer here? Franco is a brave man, Vittore. He will fight for what is right, even if it puts him in danger.’ The man rubbed at his dark, straggly beard. ‘Besides, he would be a very guilty man indeed if he were here.’

Vittore sighed and leant his head back. ‘How are our numbers?’

‘We have a new recruit,’ said Floriano. ‘An orphan.’

The young thief snarled. ‘Damn the French! Another taken and still they do not care!’

The man said nothing. He understood Vittore’s reaction.

But the thief was quick to calm. ‘They will be waiting for me to return, I imagine. I shall join them now.’

Vittore left Floriano alone, and climbed up the dark staircase, into a large room full of light. It was a little difficult to adjust to the brightness, but after twelve years of doing so, it didn’t take long.

‘Vittore!’ The thief was suddenly hugged by a green-eyed girl a few years younger than he.

‘Liana,’ he breathed. ‘You’re back.’

She pulled away, grinning at him. ‘You should see Rome, Vittore! It’s such a beautiful city.’

‘And I heard it has rich history,’ remarked Vittore. ‘So naturally, it’s full of tourists to pickpocket.’ His mind was still on business; as long as he was a thief, he would never stop thinking of all the ways he could gain money and goods. ‘Are there any French guards?’

‘No,’ she answered, ‘but the Roman guards are strict – the amount of tourists are goldmines for us thieves. Come, anyway; you are to take off these weapons, Vittore.’

Vittore laughed, already taking the sheath from his back. There were seven bunks against the wall of this room, and he dropped the sheath carefully at the bottom of his bunk. Silently he took off his quiver and put that against the bed.

‘Tell me what I have missed,’ said Liana. ‘How are the French advancing?’

‘Quickly,’ said Vittore bluntly. ‘We have had word from Franco … our army is tiring, Liana. The outcomes do not look good.’

‘They will reach us,’ said Liana quietly. ‘We are weak, impoverished and starving. The French have formed an alliance with Spain, I hear. They are getting richer.’

‘Meanwhile, I hear our French refugees are not having a pleasant time,’ said Vittore. ‘Somebody was burned last night, or so Renato has told me.’

‘We have a Spanish Pope, Vittore,’ she said, wincing. ‘There will be attempts on his life, surely.’

‘Indeed,’ said Vittore, but he sounded uncomfortable with the subject. ‘Did you hear of the orphan brought in?’

‘Hear of him?’ asked Liana. ‘I am the one who brought him. I found him in Rome. It seems the thieves in Rome are nomads.’

‘They have no guild?’ asked Vittore. ‘That is unusual.’

‘That leaves them vulnerable, and the situation in Rome is bad as it is,’ she said. ‘I think Floriano is worried about it … you are a good thief, Vittore.’

The compliment left him confused. ‘Thanks,’ he said, feeling more than a little awkward.

‘You are second only to Floriano, really.’

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of boots hurrying up the stairs. Vittore smiled. Thieves’ boots.

‘Liana! You’re back!’ was the general sentiment of the twelve thieves that had appeared in the doorway. Vittore could name them all; Cristiano, Alvise, Ludovico, Oliviero, Tommaso, Renato, Carlo, Andrea, Alessandro, Giacomo, Giuseppe, and Domenico. He had known these men since he’d come to the guild over ten years ago.

Although most of the thieves stayed close to talk to Liana, Oliviero immediately went to his bunk and pulled off his boots. ‘Did you hear about what Floriano is planning, Vittore?’

‘No,’ replied the younger thief.

A small boy, clearly the newest recruit, came into the room and sat down on the floor next to where Vittore was stood.

‘He plans to send some of us down to Rome,’ said Oliviero, ‘to set up a guild.’

‘There is already a guild in Rome,’ said the boy.

‘No, there isn’t,’ argued Oliviero. ‘Liana has been there and she said there wasn’t.’

‘There is,’ insisted the child. ‘I was part of it, but I ran away. It’s very secretive … it’s run by a man named Emilio Capello. There are only boys there; boys my age. I don’t know why.’

‘Why did you run away?’ asked Alvise.

The boy shrugged. ‘It didn’t feel right … it was like something bad was happening there. At least on the streets, I knew what would happen to me.’

‘Hm,’ said Alvise. ‘Emilio Capello, did you say? We’ll remember that name.’

‘And what is yours, little one?’ asked Tommaso.

‘I’m Bettino.’

That night, Vittore lay with Bettino curled up next to him. There was a horrid sensation in his gut, as if something awful was about to happen, but whatever it was, he could not place it.

The child was already asleep, so he climbed from the bed as quietly as he could, and moved towards the window to get some air.


End file.
